Three waitresses all wearingBlack diamond earringsTalking about zombiesAnd Singapore slingsNo trouble in their facesNot one anxious voiceNone of the crazy you getFrom too much choiceThe thumb and the satchelOr the rented Rolls-RoyceAnd you think she knows somethingBy the second refillYou think she's enlightenedAs she totals your billYou say "Show me the wayTo Barangrill"

Well some say it's in serviceThey say "Humble Makes Pure"You're hoping it's near Folly'Cause you're headed that way for sureAnd you just have to laugh'Cause it's all so crazyAh, her mind's on her boyfriendAnd eggs over easyIt's just a trick on youHer mirrors and your willSo you ask the truck driverOn the way to the tillBut he's just a slaveTo Barangrill

The guy at the gas pumpsHe's got a lot of soulHe sings Merry Christmas for youJust like Nat King ColeAnd he makes up his own tuneRight on the spotAbout whitewalls and windshieldsAnd this job he's gotAnd you want to get movingAnd you want to stay stillBut lost in the momentSome longing gets filledAnd you even forget to ask"Hey, Where's Barangrill?"